


Green Grow The Rushes-O

by Todesengel



Category: Kagaku Ninja Tai Gatchaman | Science Ninja Team Gatchaman
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sex, Multi, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-15
Updated: 2011-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:36:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One is one and all alone and ever more shall be so</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One is One and All Alone and Ever More Shall Be So

**Author's Note:**

> See final chapter for notes

Ken had a moment to think _not like this_ , and then Joe's lips were pressed against his, and Joe's hands were tearing at the buckle of his belt and Ken found that he really didn't have all that much self-control after all.

Sex with Joe was exactly as Ken had imagined it, and a thousand times better and ten thousand times worse. Joe's touch was painfully wonderful, and Ken found himself gasping into Joe's mouth as he felt the rough touch of Joe's hand upon his dick. Rough and harsh, like Ken was one of Joe's cars and Joe was slamming him into gear.

"Joe," Ken growled -- groaned -- out, reached down for the button of Joe's pants, wanting to touch, to feel. He snarled a little as Joe pressed in and trapped his hands between their bodies.

"Not yet," Joe said, low and rough, and he pushed Ken hard against the wall, kissed him so hard that Ken tasted blood.

Ken was pretty sure he was going to have bruises later.

"Fuck." A long, drawn out sob of want, and Ken felt Joe smile against his mouth.

"Not today."

"Fucker."

Joe laughed, flicked his thumb across the top of Ken's cock, let his other hand fondle Ken's balls, and Ken found he couldn't say anything at all, not even his own name because language had disappeared and all he had was noise. Grunting and moaning and panting, and if his breath hitched a little until it sounded like sob then that was all right, because Joe wasn't delicate or sensitive in his touch and Ken could pretend that it was pain and not pleasure; annoyance and not love.

"Joe," Ken moaned again, and this time when he moved his hands, slid them up under Joe's shirt to feel the glide of muscle and scars -- the dip here where a broken rib hadn't set properly, the bump there that was the healed over spot of an old knife wound -- Joe didn't stop him, just shuddered and picked up his pace.

Harsh and urgent and it was still the most mind-blowing experience Ken had ever had, because it was _Joe_ , it was the taste of Joe in his mouth and the tension of their bodies and the smell of their combined arousal. It was the push of Joe's erection against his hip, the grind of Joe's body against his own, the pain of getting what he wanted. The relief of getting what he needed.

He didn't say Joe's name when he came, just grunted and closed his eyes and slammed his head back against the wall hard enough to make him see stars.

When he opened his eyes, he was alone.


	2. Two, Two the Lily White Boys Clothed All in Green-O

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lily White Boys

_Of all the stupid--_

Joe turned and paced back along the length of his trailer. End to end and it wasn't big enough to work off the tension that made him prowl like a caged beast.

 _Nice one, Asakura. Never fucking think, do you._

He wanted to get in his car and drive, race down the road to god knows where, except he knew that if he got behind the wheel now, he'd end up doing something incredibly stupid. Like going to Ken's.

And that would be a monumentally bad idea. Especially after he more or less attacked Ken in the middle of the base, in a hallway that saw some fairly regular use.

Sexual assault didn't really go down well with the ISO.

It _really_ didn't go down well with Ken, who was now banned from the Snack J's dance floor after he nearly snapped and committed mass homicide during a little innocent bump and grind.

Ken was touchy about his personal space.

 _But, fuck, couldn't help myself, now could I?_

Not with Ken acting like nothing mattered anymore; not with Jun dead because of them, because Ken did what was right and torched the fucking plants; not with the chilling reality of their own mortality staring them in the face. For all that death was what they did, what they breathed and lived, Joe had always thought of death as something that happened to other people. He'd never thought that it might happen to him. To Jun and Jinpei and Ryu.

To Ken.

And sex had always made him feel alive, and he'd figured that it'd work the same on Ken except.

Except he hadn't expected it to be so damn _good_.

He could still taste Ken on his lips, still feel the heat of Ken's body. He ran his hands through his hair and they smelled like lust, like the essence of Ken distilled into pure sex.

Joe shuddered and pulled his hands away. A guy could get addicted to that smell.

Fuck. He was so hard that it hurt.

Joe found that his body had once again acted before his mind could catch-up, and he pulled his hand off of his dick with guilty haste.

He shouldn't be fantasizing about Ken like that. Ken was his _brother_ in every sense but the legal and genetic ones. He didn't fantasize about _Jun_ when he jerked off, even if she had legs that went on forever.

But, oh, the sight of Ken's lust-glazed eyes, the feeling of Ken thrusting up into his hand, the sound of Ken's breath -- harsh like it was during sparring practice except somehow laden with lust, with need, with desire. It was better than fighting. It was better than women. It was better than the dreams of breaking every bone in Katse's body, listening to him scream for mercy.

It was even better than those other dreams of killing every single Devil Star until he was surrounded by an ocean of red and green.

Joe slid down to the floor, pants pushed around his ankles, and slicked up the palm of his hand with his saliva, so desperately hard that he couldn't be bothered to find some lube, to do anything except grab his dick and pull. He touched himself with gentle, punishing strokes. He closed his eyes and imagined that it was Ken's hand that stroked him; pictured Ken's beautifully flawed body, all that imperfect flesh surging against his own like the ocean, like the recoil of his gun.

"Ken, Ken," he moaned, wanting so badly, wishing that Ken actually was here, was touching him, saying his name the way he had in that hallway, whispering it like it was love.

"Joe."

Joe opened his eyes and looked up into Ken's.

He shuddered as he came.


	3. Three, Three the Rivals

Something had happened while she was gone. Jun was as sure of this, knew it with a cold, hard certainty, knew it like she knew her bombs. Something had happened between Ken and Joe, and whatever it was, they weren't talking about it or dealing with it or doing anything other than SOP for the two of them which was to ignore the problem and hope it went away.

And whatever it was must have been huge, because the two of them were acting so like themselves that it was almost funny. They were caricatures of reality, Ken all stiff and proper and Joe taking every opportunity to fight him on everything from command procedures to how shiny his boots had to be.

Jun was distinctly not amused.

She disliked it when Ken and Joe fought -- fought for real and not in the half-assed bantering way they usually did. It screwed up all of the team's dynamics, and yes, so maybe Jun was a little bit obsessive about keeping the team running happily but so what? It was normal to want your family to get along, to love each other, and besides, they had enough troubles foisted on them that it'd just be beyond stupid to create some of their own.

Jun tapped the top of her workstation, brow furrowed as she thought of how she was going to narrow down the source of the trouble this time. Ryu and Jinpei were no help, the oblivious bastards, and Jun knew that confronting Ken and Joe would just be a pointless exercise in topic avoidance. Which left her with one option, the one she'd been forced to promise Nambu she'd never, ever do again, not after that rather unfortunate incident where some of the security tapes from the men's showers in the locker room somehow managed to get leaked onto the general base intranet. But _that_ had all been Joe's fault for making a peephole into the women's shower, and Jun was almost positive that Nambu's objections were based on the amount of bandwidth those vids had sucked up and not about the whole hacking into secured files thing.

Besides, she was older, now, and she was sure she'd be able to cover her tracks this time around.

By the time she found it, Jun was too tired and annoyed at having to slog through three days worth of security tapes to do more than sit back in her chair with a sigh of satisfaction at a job well done, and wonder why this sort of thing hadn't happened before. After all, they'd all heard Joe bitch at length about how civilians were too soft for him to really enjoy the experience, and Joe wasn't exactly known for his abilities to plan ahead or reign in his impulses. He'd probably just gotten too horny to think straight and Ken had been convenient, and Joe just had phenomenally bad time to do something this stupid while Jun wasn't around to be the outlet for his hormones.

And then, because they were idiots, they'd let it all get out of hand.

Feeling suddenly refreshed, Jun ran a quick sweep of the base, searching for the unique signals of Ken and Joe's bracelets. Luck was with her today, the base's sensors showing the two of them together in one of the maintenance corridors, and Jun flipped to the camera-node that monitored that section, cycling through the individual cameras until she got to F-14, supply closet 7c.

She nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw what the two of them were up to, and good lord were they idiots to believe that there was _anywhere_ on the base that was invisible to security's all seeing eyes.

Who knew that Joe knew how to give head?

Jun peeked between her fingers, sure she was beet red, and so very, very grateful that there wasn't an audio component. Especially after Ken pushed Joe off and then dropped into a small, rocking ball, and, wow, this whole thing had apparently really messed with Ken's head if he'd thought it was a good idea to shove someone away while they were sucking on his dick. Besides, it looked as if the two of them were getting into one hell of a shouting match, even with Ken still crumpled on the floor, and Jun knew from experience that even innocent bystanders could end up with bleeding gut wounds when Ken and Joe really lit into each other.

Jun watched Joe storm out, watched Ken pull himself up, slowly, shakily, and follow him, and it had to stop. It had to stop now because things were breaking and Jun wasn't going to let that happen.

So she cornered Joe before he could run away, grabbed the front of his shirt and growled out, "If you need someone to fuck, I'm right here. Leave Ken alone" before she kissed him and, okay, so maybe she wouldn't be winning any prizes in the 'thinking ahead' Olympics because she hadn't thought about what Joe had been doing with his mouth before, hadn't thought what that meant.

She could taste Ken on Joe's tongue.

"Junie?"

"Stop fucking with Ken. It's not good for the team." And she didn't let herself think about how Ken tasted as she kissed Joe again, harder, demanding. She licked her lips as she pulled back and hoped she didn't look as nervous as she felt. "I'm not going to let you break this, Joe."

She couldn't read the look in Joe's eyes, but he let her drag him to her quarters, and he was slow and gentle when he stripped her, planting soft kisses on her body and doing marvelous things with his fingers. Jun let herself be selfish for just a moment, and then sat up and pushed Joe down and impaled herself on his cock.

"I'm not like your other girls," she told him. "I'm just like Ken. I'm not soft. I won't break."

Joe closed his eyes, briefly, and shuddered, and when he opened them, there was nothing gentle in them.

He left bruises on her skin, bruises in the shapes of his fingers, of his hands. Small bites on her breasts, hickeys on her shoulders. She left shallow wounds on his back, larger bites on his neck, and every time he tried to slow down she'd pulled herself up and growled, "harder" into his ear, and he obliged.

She didn't pretend that she wasn't grateful that he got up to leave as soon as he was done.

"You going to leave Ken alone, now?" she called out to him, too tired and sore to move and too proud to let him know that.

Joe nodded once, a harsh jerk of his head, and then he was gone and away and Jun closed her eyes and told herself that this was all right. That everything was going to be all right, and her idle fancies of the perfect first time weren't important enough to weep over. That she could handle Joe's needs -- her body was strong, and it didn't hurt as much as being hit by a bullet.

By mid-morning it no longer hurt to do high-kicks and the bruises on her hips were almost gone, and Joe didn't look at her funny or treat her differently, so Jun figured it had worked. The knot that had settled in her heart slowly unraveled, and she felt almost normal as they walked to the mess for lunch, so she leaned over to Ken and told him, "Joe isn't going to bother you anymore. I've taken care if it."

Ken stopped walking, and Jun turned, and the flash of anger in his eyes made her feel afraid of him for the first time in her life; made her feel like the enemy and she slid into a defensive stance out of pure instinct, hoping that she'd be able to think of _something_ that would give her the edge over Ken because she knew her limitations.

And then the moment passed, and there was only quiet resignation in Ken's eyes, a depressed slump to his shoulders.

"Junie," he said as he walked past her, "sometimes I wish you'd really just mind your own fucking business."

Jun stared at his back, still trembling from the adrenaline spike.

She'd thought that was what she'd been doing.


	4. Four for the Gospel Makers

Of all the phone calls Ryu had expected to receive at half-past three in the morning, the one from Ken saying he was in jail on Drunk and Disorderly charges and could Ryu please come down and bail him out, was the second to last on that list.

Joe calling him up and apologizing for all of the slights and sneers and vicious little barbs was the last. Ryu was pretty sure that after he got that phone call, the world would end in a really nasty fashion, possibly because of something Joe had done.

The officer on duty kept giving him funny looks and fingering the cover his of holster, which made Ryu nervous because, shit, what the hell had Ken done _now_? This was so totally why they weren't allowed to go out and get stone-blind drunk.

And then he realized that the reason the guard was nervous was because of _him_ and Ryu suppressed the urge to go through his whole disarming 'I'm just a simple country lad' routine. Right now, at a quarter past four, with Gatchaman sitting in a cell, making Officer -- he squinted at the badge -- Yamamoto feel a little more comfortable did not rate highly among Ryu's priorities. Mostly because Ken looked like someone had just kicked him in the balls and told him his best friend had died and then given him a case of food poisoning just to round the whole experience out.

Ryu really hoped Ken wouldn't barf in his car.

"Okay buddy," he told Ken as he pulled Ken to his feet and mostly dragged him out of the police station. "Time to go home."

Ken narrowed his eyes, stared at him for a long time. "You look like a fucking freak," he said at last, tongue tripping over the words.

"Yeah, well, that's what you get when you haul my ass out of bed at oh-dark-hundred."

He poured Ken into the passenger seat, strapped him in, and they were half-way to Ken's place before Ken said, "I just wanted the first time to be in an actual _bed_ , y'know? Was that really too much to ask?"

Ryu grimaced. Did he have some sort of sign tattooed to his forehead that read "tell me about your sexual problems!"? First Jun and then Joe (who'd basically told him to fuck off), after he'd gone 'round to give Joe a good ass-kicking for making Junie try not to cry, and now here was Ken, drunk off his ass, to deliver his version of the gospel truth.

"And, okay, so maybe I didn't stop him. But. He just wanted sex. I don't. I didn't." Ken sighed heavily. "Fucking bastard."

"Is this the part where you explain to me why you walked in on him masturbating while moaning out your name and decided that that was the perfect time to tell him that the two of you were never, ever, ever going to have sex again?"

"'M not _that_ much a martyr," Ken muttered. He blinked, twice, as Ryu pulled to a stop in front of his shack. "Not going to take stuff I can't have."

"Right. Because Joe getting off while moaning your name is a sure sign that he doesn't love you," Ryu grumbled as he pulled Ken out of the car and dragged him into the house.

"'S just Joe. 'S just sex to him. Hey, that's my bed."

"Yes, and this is me putting you into it." Ryu pushed Ken down and started tugging at his pants. It helped, sometimes, to be so much stronger than the others.

"Hey, cool." Ken reached up and wrapped his arms around Ryu's neck, kissed him, wet and sloppy. Ryu froze, and a thousand different thoughts ran through his head, many of them centered around the fact that if he'd known Ken was going to do this, he'd have made Ken brush his teeth first.

Ryu moved his hands, brushed Ken's groin by accident, felt the long, hard length of Ken's cock through the thin cotton of his boxers.

"Joe," Ken moaned and moved in for another kiss, and if Ryu hadn't known Ken was crazy-stupid in love with Joe before, then he sure as hell did now, because there was no mistaking the undertones there.

"Joe, please." Such a lost, lonely little voice, and Ken's body pushed up against his touch. Hard. Needing.

Ryu swallowed. This was so not in his job description.

"Please. Want you. Wanted so long." Lust and pain and alcohol all laced together, and Ryu hurt for Ken, hurt so hard that he reached out, just to comfort, just to give Ken what he needed. And it wasn't really so different from jerking himself off, except in the angle and the fact that this wasn't his dick, and it wasn't him gasping and thrusting and --

"Joe, Joe."

Ryu closed his eyes. Wished he was deaf so he wouldn't have to hear Ken's voice, hear how Ken sounded when he was laid out raw, and bleeding his bared soul all over the place. He pulled away slowly after Ken came, gentle and caring, and wiped Ken down with a rough dishcloth. Tucked Ken in the same way he used to tuck Seiji in back in the days when Seiji hadn't thought he was too old to be Big Brother-ed. Grabbed a bucket and a spare blanket and chair from another room and settled down. Ken wasn't going to be drowning in his own vomit on Ryu's watch, thank you very much.

He watched Ken sleep, face still troubled with all the weight of humanity, still pinched with the pain that was all his own. What dreams did he have, Ryu wondered. What nightmares? What really went on behind that mask?

"Joe," Ken whimpered, and turned over restless.

Ryu looked away.


	5. Five for the Symbols at Your Door

Ryu got him in a chokehold right after Joe exited Jun's room. Joe clawed at the arm around his throat, tried to break the hold, but Ryu just squeezed harder and Joe stopped once the black spots started to appear. He let Ryu drag him into an empty room, push him down into a chair, and he didn't rub his throat when Ryu let go, although he did cough a couple of times and swallow, twice, just to be sure he still could.

"The fuck?" he said, and winced at how raw his voice sounded.

"Stop fucking with Jun."

Joe grimaced and shuddered. "Oh God, not again. Please don't tell me you want me to fuck you too. 'Cause, seriously man, I got standards."

"Dumbass." Ryu dropped into a chair, and he somehow managed to loom even sitting, which Joe thought was fairly impressive, though he'd never say so. "Seriously. What're you doing?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"'Cause I'm bigger than you, and stronger than you, and I can hurt your car in ways you don't even want to think about." Ryu leaned forward, his entire body screaming 'serious' and Joe didn't let himself be intimidated. He could take Ryu, any day of the week, and he absolutely refused to listen to that tiny voice in the back of his head that whispered that that was only because Ryu refused to go all out on them.

"Look, whatever happens between me and Junie is our business. So butt out."

"You're hurting her."

"She likes it."

"No. She really doesn't."

And _that_ made Joe sit up straight, search Ryu's eyes for a hint that he was lying. Except, of course, he wasn't, he wouldn't, not about something like this.

"She said. I thought." Joe rubbed at his eyes, suddenly so very tired. "Fuck, I thought she got off on it, that she came to me because she didn't want to ask Ken to make her hurt, that she was just using the whole 'good of the team' thing as an excuse." He glanced at Ryu, then away. "She wouldn't let me be gentle."

"She's a sixteen-year-old girl, Joe. And she saw you and Ken do your thing and she thought you needed to hurt someone in order to get off. And she loves Ken." Ryu sighed. "For all her brains she's sometimes one hell of an idiot."

"Yeah, well, she's in good company," Joe muttered. He slouched down in his seat and glared at Ryu. "So, what? You want me to promise I'll stop fucking Jun? No problem."

"What I want you to do is make sure I never have to bail Ken out on drunk and disorderly charges again," Ryu said. He crossed his arms as well, glared back at Joe. "Get your head out of your fucking ass for once. Take a look around. Observe. You might be surprised."

The chair creaked as Ryu stood up, and Joe let himself be pulled up out of his own chair, pushed out the door, mind to busy turning over what Ryu had said. He thought about Ryu's words as he drove to Ken's, as he parked, as he sat in his car and stared at Ken's door.

Observe _what_?

He blinked, shook his head, squinted into the late afternoon glare. What was he doing wasting time thinking about what that idiot said?

He reached forward for his keys, then stopped. Well, hell, he might as well grab a beer while he was here, tell Ken about this whole mess. And, yeah, things were kind of awkward between them, but, fuck, the last thing in the world Joe wanted right now was more sex. Not while he felt dirty and ashamed of what he'd done to Junie, not when what he craved more than anything was just to sit on Ken's old, sagging couch and watch his crappy little T.V. and feel comfortable.

He was already walking forward when he realized that the door wasn't moving.

Joe stared. Tried the knob again, felt the resistance of the lock.

The hell?

Locked?

Ken had actually _locked_ his door?

Ken _never_ locked his door. Hell, Joe hadn't even known that the door _could_ lock.

"Ken! Ken, open up!" Joe gave two good thuds on the door and figured that was enough warning. It was child's play to pick the lock and Joe let himself in, kicking off his shoes and padding down to the kitchen. Ken's fridge was as bare as always, and Joe checked on the latest mold growth on what he vaguely recalled as being a piece of cheese, once upon a time.

"Yo, Ken," he called out as he popped the cap of his beer off, making it land in the trash can with well-practiced ease, "you'd never believe what Ryu told me."

"Joe. Most people take a locked door as a sign to fuck off." Ken's voice was low and neutral, which Joe took as a good sign, and he took a sip of his beer as he turned around, already feeling a hell of a lot better than he had in a long time.

"Yeah, well I'm not--" Joe trailed off, words caught in his throat, and apparently he _did_ want more sex because he was hard and needy and, fuck, Ken was just beautiful, leaning in the doorway, wet and golden in the light of the setting sun, towel slung low about his waist and, God, Joe just wanted to lick the water off of Ken's collarbone, follow that droplet right there, making its slow, winding path down Ken's chest and --

Joe swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, dragged his eyes back up Ken's body.

"What do you want Joe," Ken said, and there was weary resignation in his voice.

"What?" Joe said after a couple of false starts, brain really not wanting to form anything near a coherent thought. "Can't a guy come over for a beer anymore?"

"I know you Joe. It's never just a beer with you." Ken sighed and pushed off from the frame, and the towel snagged on the hinge, dipped lower, and Joe couldn't hold himself back, couldn't stop himself from going to Ken, tugging that towel away and tasting the clean bitterness of Ken's skin.

He fell back, choking, as Ken gave him a swift jab in the throat. Fuck what was it with people and his throat today?

"No, Joe," Ken said, pulling the towel tighter around his waist. His voice was quiet and angry, and that was never a good combination. "I've told you. I'm not doing this with you."

"Why not?" Joe croaked, straightening up. "Come on, it's not like it hurts anybody. And sex is a hell of a lot more fun with two people."

"Because it's the mother of all bad ideas. And I don't do casual sex, Joe."

Joe grinned, lewdly. "Ken, Ken, Ken. Casual sex is _never_ a bad idea."

Ken stared at him for a long, slow moment, face unreadable, and Joe stared back, still grinning, even though he was beginning to feel like he'd somehow ended up in another competition with Ken, except he had no idea what he was competing for. And then Ken moved, fast and aggressive, and Joe was already dropping back into a fighting stance before he could think about it, and somehow the beer he held in his hand ended up all over his shirt and Ken's towel and the floor, and Joe didn't give a fuck about that because Ken was pushed up tight against his back, and he had a hand pulled up tight and awkward and painfully behind him, trapped between their bodies, and Ken's arm against his throat, and Ken's dick rubbing against his ass.

"You want to know why this is a bad idea, Joe?" Ken growled into his ear, and fuck, it was so, so wrong to be turned on by that, by this entire messed up situation. "You want to know why I won't do casual sex with you Joe? Because I don't want it to _be_ casual, because I want to fuck you, long and hard and again and again and again." He nipped the side of Joe's neck and Joe shivered, closed his eyes, tried to ignore the things Ken's other hand was doing to him, the way it was stroking him through his jeans. He was not going to come in his pants, he wasn't, although he thought that maybe Ken's hand didn't know about this particular resolution.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to fuck you?" Ken's voice dropped lower, became rougher, and Joe was keenly aware of Ken's erection, of the movement of Ken's body behind him, of the way Ken had managed to undo his jeans and slip that maddening hand inside to grope him, and it was.

"How many nights I've spent touching myself and thinking about you, jerking off imagining how you'd look beneath me? How many times I've called your name as I came? How hard it is to control myself, keep myself from doing this to you every time I see you, every time I touch you?"

It was.

"I love you Joe."

It was too much, and Joe whimpered a little as he came, wanting to scream but unable to, wanting to cry because, God, he didn't want it to stop, he never wanted it to stop.

And then Ken was gone, retreating down the hallway, and Joe was left alone, gasping, shaking with post-orgasmic shock, damp from sweat, from beer, from the water he'd soaked up off of Ken's body.

"Get out." Ken's voice floated down the hallway, as cold and impersonal as every other command he'd ever given, empty of that growling heat that had filled all of Joe's senses just seconds ago. "And don't come back here again."


	6. Six for the Six Proud Walkers

Ken dressed slowly, mechanically, refused to let his mind dwell on anything except the act of pulling his belt through the loops, of checking his socks to see which ones were least likely to spontaneously evolve into a sentient life-form. Small, mundane tasks, white noise to drown out the screaming demons who wanted him to look at what he had done, to remember the feeling of Joe writhing against him, the noises he'd made, the way he'd smelled, the way his skin had tasted.

Ken clamped down on those thoughts with ruthless efficiency. He wouldn't mourn, or wish for things to be different, because things were the way they were and he couldn't change that. Joe was straight as ruler, and he was --

Well, Ken couldn't really decide what he was, since as far back as he could remember, the only person he'd ever wanted was Joe.

Who probably hated his guts right now.

Ken sat down -- fell down -- on his bed, put his head between his knees.

Fuck, he hadn't counted on this pain, on the way it felt like someone had reached inside his gut and tore out his insides and then roasted them on a grill, with them still attached to his body.

Deep breaths, and none of it helped, because Ken could stand a lot of things but not Joe's hatred.

"Ate your own cooking again, huh?" Joe said and Ken looked up so sharply that he made himself dizzy, or at least that was the excuse he whispered in his mind.

"I thought I told you to leave." Ken dug his nails into the palms of his hands to keep them from reaching out.

"Like I ever listen to you when you're being a dumb fuck." Joe sauntered over, made the bed shake and quiver as he sat down. He leaned in and Ken leaned away, wished he had the power to do more.

"Joe, I'm not kidding around."

"So I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea of letting you fuck me," Joe said, casually, like he was telling Ken about his latest conquest, or the club he'd gone to last night, and he tugged on Ken's hand and pulled him closer.

"Joe, stop." And Ken couldn't pull away, turn away, could barely keep himself from leaning into Joe.

"But I'm flexible, I'm open to new ideas. And I'm pretty sure I can kick your ass if it turns out that I was right to be less than ecstatic about the whole idea."

It really wasn't fair that the simple act of Joe touching the back of his neck could make Ken so hard, so fucking hard and wanting and --

"Joe, please. Don't do this to me." And his voice was low and desperate and he hated that, hated being so weak. "Don't. Don't fucking toy with me, okay? Don't play me."

"Who said this was a game?"

Joe's kiss wasn't gentle this time, but his hands were, and Ken refused to moan, to give in, to do anything but sit rigidly straight until Joe pulled away, just a little, just enough to whisper into Ken's skin, "you don't get to decide shit for me, Washio. Just trust me, okay?"

Ken felt drunk, drunk off of Joe, off of air, and his hands shook as he reached up, touched Joe and didn't push him away.


	7. Seven for the Seven Stars in the Sky

They were lost. Joe was as sure of this fact as he was sure of anything, as sure of Ken beside him, as sure of Galactor before him, as sure of the rest of the Ninjatai behind him. They were lost, and they were in the middle of the fucking wilderness, and Ken was being a dickhead about it, and Joe definitely wasn't feeling antsy about the fact that he was _sure_ he heard a bear growling or doing whatever the fuck bears did in the forest at night.

"We're walking in circles, Ken," he growled out and glared at his bracelet. "Fucking useless piece of crap. Thing can do my taxes but doesn't have a GPS."

"Yours does taxes? Mine only randomly quotes the lotus sutra in Sanskrit."

Joe transferred his glare to Ken's back. "Ha. Ha."

Something rustled in the darkness, made a screeching noise that Joe _really_ didn't like, and, hell, knowing his luck, they were probably walking straight into some sort of Galactor boot camp. He _never_ should've listened to Ken; he definitely shouldn't have left his car.

Ken's back was warm and unyielding when Joe walked into it, and if he prolonged the contact a little more than was strictly necessary, even given their current status as 'exclusive fuck buddies' (which was how Joe thought of it, anyway), well, it was cold out. Joe wasn't the biggest fan of the cold.

"This way."

"You're making this shit up, aren't you."

"Trust me, Joe."

And _that_ was just unfair, because of course he had to trust Ken; Ken was trusting him, after all, and their relationship had always been one of balance -- or stalemate, if Joe was going to be really honest about it all. Still, all he'd been asking for was a chance. Ken was asking for him to apparently climb a fucking mountain in the dark, with all kinds of things rustling around him and making him jittery from adrenaline.

And then Ken was tugging on his hand and they were out from the darkness of the trees, had climbed above them, and their tops spread out like a strange sort of ocean, and the sky was high above them, clear and deep and flooded with the light of the stars and the moon.

"Come on." Ken dragged him over to a large boulder, alternating silver and black in the moonlight, the lichen on its surface pale green-gray blotches. Joe sat down and stared, and, okay. This was so not worth all the shit he'd been put through tonight. He'd been expecting a hot spring, or something; definitely something involving nudity, and since Joe wasn't exactly big on picking bits of gravel out of sensitive places, he was fairly positive that nudity was out of the picture.

"The fuck?"

"Look."

And then the heavens opened up and Joe found himself unable to do anything but stare, slack-jawed, at the rain of stars that sleeted through the sky. Beautiful and frightening and Joe felt himself filled with a strange sensation -- pure and fragile and it reminded him of Midnight Mass, of churches and cathedrals and his parents.

"Huh," was all he could say when it was over, a grunt that was more to shake himself back into reality than anything else.

"Yeah."

Ken wasn't exactly wrapped around him, but he was close, right there, and when Joe turned his head, it would only take the smallest movement to bring their lips together; it wasn't even an effort to slide his hands up underneath Ken's shirt, tuck them into the warmth of Ken's body.

"Seriously. You just got lucky on this one, didn't you," he said, low and grinning. "We're totally fucked for finding the car again, aren't we."

"How many -- Look," Ken said, and he leaned in even closer, draped himself on Joe and pointed up into the star glutted sky. "There's the Big Dipper. And that's the North Star, right there. So the car is over there." Another point, this time to a spot behind them that glowed orange and white, and Joe could just make out the dark gash that was the highway. "It's called celestial navigation."

"Celestial navigation, huh," Joe said and felt a shiver run through his body as he stared at the North Star, fixed in the heavens.

"Yeah," Ken said, and when Joe turned back, he could see nothing but himself in Ken's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note: in Japan, North is a very bad orientation for sleeping, as dead bodies are laid out facing North.


	8. Eight for the April Rainers

Ken couldn't say, honestly, if the whole "hey, let's spar in a freezing downpour!" thing had been his idea or Joe's or if it was just one of those things that happened between them sometimes, the same thought flashing through their heads instantaneously, their bodies moving together in an unrehearsed choreography.

Sparring in the rain, and it had been a flimsy excuse on both their parts. Their clothes clung to them like second skins. Shirts heavy, cold, jeans uncomfortably rough, and Ken didn't give a flying fuck because all he could feel was the banked heat of Joe's body, hidden beneath the clammy chill of his skin, trapped between a wall and himself. He sucked on the knob at the back of Joe's neck, tasted the rainwater -- clean and cold and wet and metallic and pure -- and the soap Joe had used and sweat and something slightly cottony.

"Wallet," Joe panted out, fingers fumbling at the buttons of his fly, pushing Ken's hands away impatiently.

"What?"

"Wallet. Back pocket."

And when Ken pulled it out, all he could think was _typical_ because there was a condom there, tucked between a couple of dollars, Joe's wallet as pathetically empty as his own. Still, the sight of it sent a strange jolt of ... something ... through his body, like a sucker punch but better, like an orgasm but painful. Something tight and waiting curled up in his body right below his belly button, and Ken found himself noticing just how cold he was, just how wet he felt, hair lying plastered down in his face. Found himself thinking about how this little corner -- this _doorway_ to some shed with the rain pounding down on the tin roof above them -- wasn't really as isolated as he'd thought.

"Goddamn slow assed --" Joe mumbled, and Ken could see his pants sagging down, drawn down by weight and gravity and kept up with just one hand. "Hurry up before I change my mind." He looked over his shoulder at Ken, just as wet, skin pale from the cold except for the small, high circles of color on his cheeks, not like blushes but like bruises, like skin scraped raw. "You wanted to, right?"

Invitation enough, Ken supposed, and he hoped he didn't growl his response because that was just undignified, although he suspected that dropping Joe's wallet and somehow managing to actually rip his zipper clean off his pants didn't exactly do wonders for his dignity.

It was hard to get the condom on and Ken didn't know if his hands were shaking because he was cold or excited or frightened.

"You sure?" he said, jeans down around his ankles, briefs somewhere around his knees, really not liking the cold against his dick, and it was kind of a stupid time to ask the question, what with Joe bracing himself up against the wall, body lean and tight from tension.

"No, I'm not fucking sure, but just hurry up and do it already," Joe snarled, and Ken went slow, slow like he'd read about, fingers first and lots of touching, kissing, and all of it rough and harsh in that way that made Joe relax. He really should have done all this before he'd put the condom on, he thought, because it was taking all of his control to keep himself from just fucking Joe now, hard and brutal, and he didn't even care that the weren't anywhere near a bed because Ken had always been adaptable.

The heat of Joe's body was unbelievably incredible, amazingly painful.

"Joe," he said into the tangled mess of his hair, wet and silky and catching on his face.

"Jesus. Holy mother of -- Ken don't." Incoherent noise, but Ken knew what words Joe wasn't able to say and so he didn't move, even though he wanted to, held his body so still it trembled with the effort, and he didn't know how he knew Joe was ready, but that strange, unvoiced telepathy that existed between them happened again, and he was sliding in just as Joe was pushing back, and it was.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't like Ken had idly fantasized about. It was wet and hot and cold and clammy and inelegant even in the middle of their synchronized grace, and the denim of Joe's jeans, caught awkwardly between their bodies, chafed his balls with every thrust.

It was better.

It was real.

He left marks of possession along Joe's shoulders, his neck; left his skin and Joe's on the rough bricks of the walls; left their blood to run pale pink until it was diluted into nothing at all, like the stain of white that dripped and ran down in brilliant contrast against the pollution dark red of the wall until the rain washed it away as well.

He leaned against Joe, braced by the wall by proxy, arms tight around Joe's waist, still buried as deep within Joe's body as he could get even though he was softening. He counted breaths until his heart stopped racing like one of Joe's cars. Round and round in an endless circle, and sometimes Ken wondered if there was some sort of secret message about the futility of life and the truth of endless suffering that Joe was trying to get across to the world and that was why he was always so intense in those first moments after he stepped out of his car, hair matted down with sweat.

He really didn't want to pull up his briefs, didn't want to feel the cloth cling and bind against his wet skin. Didn't want to move at all, feeling lethargic and oddly at peace for all that he was wet and cold and breathless.

"You got lucky," Joe said at last, voice raw from the noises he hadn't made. Ken made a small questioning sound and rubbed the bridge of his nose against the hard line of Joe's jaw. "I won't have to kick your ass."

"Yeah, I'm pretty amazing." Ken tightened his grip, soaked up what warmth Joe had to spare. Soaked up everything Joe was willing to give. Soaked up everything he could get.

"Ass," Joe said, but Ken could tell that he was smiling.


	9. Nine for the Nine Bright Shiners

Joe kept a running tally in his head of all the times that they had sex -- real sex, penetration, because Joe didn't count rushed hand jobs as sex, and after that one rather spectacular failure, they hadn't done much in the way of oral -- and after the ninth time, this one in Ken's bed, with Ken still raw and sore and smelling of hospitals and regen tanks, and the sex slow and gentle, Joe was forced to admit that this wasn't a fluke. Nine times, and it wasn't a coincidence. It wasn't an accident. It wasn't a phase (or at least Joe was mostly sure it wasn't a phase).

He was in love, and that was a frightening prospect.

Ken curled toward him in sleep, and Joe wanted to run away, because he did a lot of things but didn't number love among them. Love was dangerous and foolish and it put out a fucking red carpet for pain, and Joe didn't want to deal with that pain again. Never wanted to deal with that pain again, and he wondered how he'd let himself fall in love in the first place. Wondered how he'd let himself be chained down to this bed, to this man, to this snatched moment of quiet peace.

Ken moved again, slow from the painkillers, the new, purple scars gleaming in the pale moonlight, and Joe wasn't sure how he knew it, but he knew Ken was awake -- or at least not as deeply asleep as he had been a moment ago. And just as Joe knew that, he knew that it was his careful attempts to crawl over Ken, to make it off this bed and out of this room and to break with this life before he got too deeply enmeshed in love to be free from it at all, that had pulled Ken out of sleep, and so he held his breath and stilled his body and hope that Ken would just roll over and sleep again.

"Thinking too loudly," Ken said instead, voice lowered by sleep, small creases marring the smooth sweep of his forehead as he frowned. He threw an arm over Joe's waist, slid one leg between Joe's. Possessed him casually, and Joe found he was caged in, held down tightly by the light pressure of Ken's arm.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and turned into Ken's heat.

"'S okay." A giant yawn, and it shouldn't have been sexy but it was. "Know you."

"Sorry," he said again, although he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for.

"Things'll be okay," Ken said, words slurring a little. "'S not that scary."

"Yeah."

Nine times, and that had meaning. That had weight.

Nine times, and Joe was hoping desperately that there wouldn't be ten.


	10. Ten for the Ten Commandments

The church smelled of stone and old paper and smoke and incense and Joe crossed himself out of habit as he entered. It was cool and dark, and the blinding pain that had made him stumble down the street and into the cathedral in the first place eased up a little -- enough so that if he squinted, a bit, he could make his way down the aisle and into a pew that creaked as he sat down.

The wood felt like silk under his fingertips, soft and smooth and it smelled like furniture wax, and Joe felt a little more of the pain slowly ease away. He slouched down, spread his arms out, let his head rest against the ancient wood. Stared at the massive cross hanging above the white marble altar, the crucified Christ lit up in shafts of purple and blue and green, and he felt none of the awe or peace or wonder that had filled him up as a child, and he almost rose, almost left. But it felt so good to sit, and in the dusty quiet of this place, he felt the pain slowly ebb and that was good too.

His mother wanted him to be a priest, he remembered suddenly, and that thought made him laugh, low and choking, pain mixed with his amusement. He wondered if maybe that's what he would have been had his parents lived -- doubtful, but perhaps. Perhaps there would have been a second son, somewhere along the line, who would have taken over his father's business. Perhaps he would have grown up gentler, less violent, less angry, less prone to breaking all of the commandments in as many ways as he could.

Doubtful, but sometimes it was nice to imagine a life he never lived, normal in a way he'd never have -- classrooms and teachers and report cards and first dates, and maybe right now, in that other life, Giorgio was being introduced to the movers and shakers of his father's world, wearing Armani and mouthing empty words and selling his soul one piece at a time.

"You look troubled, my son," a soft voice said at his elbow and Joe didn't have to look to know that it was a priest who spoke.

"Just resting, father," Joe said, his mother's training keeping his words polite. "Got a headache."

"Prayer heals many wounds, my son." The pew creaked as the priest sat down. "Wounds that we can't see, that we might not even know we have. Put your faith in God and --"

And Joe hadn't meant to bark out a laugh, short and harsh and painful, he hadn't, really. But there were many things he put his faith in, and God was not one of them, not since the day he watched his family die. Not since those nights when he lay awake, too frightened to sleep, and tried to figure out what sin his father could possibly have committed that had visited down this punishment upon Joe's head. Not since he realized that the only way to lance Galactor from the world was to kill as many soldiers as he could, and that this was not a sin, that this was a blessing.

Not since the day he woke up and realized that the commandments he judged his life by had changed; that it was no longer "thou shall not kill" but "thou shall not let thy team be killed"; that "honor thy mother and father" had become "avenge thy mother and father".

"I don't believe in God," he said at last.

"That's all right, my son," the priest said, and when he touched Joe's face in blessing the blinding pain returned and brought some of its friends with it. "God believes in you."


	11. Eleven for the Eleven Who Went to Heaven

Ken closed the door softly, but not softly enough, because it pulled Joe out of the uneasy sleep he'd slipped into, and he turned toward Ken, scrubbed a hand over his eyes, movements slow and heavy.

"Hey." Ken crossed the room, sat down on the edge of Joe's bed.

"Mmm. Ken?" Joe blinked, blearily, scrubbed at his eyes again. "S'up?"

"Heard you were sick," Ken said, and he toyed with the edge of Joe's blanket. "Thought that whole thing was done with."

"Yeah. Me too." Joe rolled onto his side, made more room, and Ken slid down beside him, until they lay face to face.

"Missed you," Ken said.

"I was right here."

"Yeah, physically." Ken sighed, stroked Joe's face once and then let his hand rest on Joe's cheek. "You've been a thousand miles away in your head."

Joe pulled closer and nuzzled Ken's neck, slid a hand into Ken's pants. "You just missed the sex."

"Joe, stop. You're sick."

"I thought you liked that." His hand wormed its way into Ken's underwear, stroked Ken's slowly filling cock.

"Not when Nambu will kill me if you have a heart attack."

"Aw come on, one last go for the dying man?"

"You're not dying," Ken said, and it was a sharp and vicious hiss, said into Joe's mouth and accompanied by a kiss that was equally sharp and vicious, possessive and desperate. "You don't get to die on me like this."

"Yeah, yeah." Joe slid his other hand down to join the first, kissed Ken back. "Come on. Ken. It's been just as long for me."

"Joe." A warning voice, tinged with need and Joe pushed a little harder, felt Ken stiffen and then break, push back against him. Hard and hot and wanting, and Joe didn't care about the fact that he was in love. Didn't care about the fact that he was dying. Didn't care about anything because he'd missed the taste of Ken's skin, the feeling of Ken sliding against him.

"God, Ken."

"Wait, wait." And Ken pulled away, making Joe whimper in need. He kissed Joe as he got up, twice, before heading toward the door. "Just. Need to make it locked."

"Hurry up." Joe slid off his pants, kicked back the covers, stroked himself slowly, and it shouldn't have felt so good, so exciting. Death shouldn't have made sex better, and yet it did.

"So impatient," Ken murmured, but Joe noticed that he didn't exactly stroll back to the bed, didn't even pause to pull off his own pants.

"Yeah, well," and then Joe couldn't say anything more because, god, god, Ken's mouth was on his cock and it was.

He had no words. Ken's mouth made his vision turn black around the edges, white in the middle, made fireworks shoot through his body. His heart was pounding, and he was blinded and he didn't care because it was Ken, it was Ken and it was.

It was the last time they'd do this, because Joe knew he was going to die, tomorrow if not today, and so Joe clamped down, managed to ride the surging pleasure long enough to gasp out, "Stop, stop."

Ken pulled back and Joe couldn't keep back the growl that slid out of his throat.

"Joe?"

"Please, Ken, fuck me, please, please," and he could forgive his begging tonight, this last time. Could forgive his weakness.

"Joe."

It always amazed Joe just how much Ken could say with his name, this time a groan of pure need, of lust and love and Joe almost came just from that. But he wanted this to last, and so he held out as long as he could, until he couldn't hold out anymore, and he didn't scream, he didn't, although he knew that maybe the noise he made could be construed as a scream because it was fairly loud. And he wasn't crying either, he just had something in his eye.

"Joe." Ken ran his hands across Joe's face, wiped away the sweat and tears, and Joe turned away.

"Nambu's given you a mission, right?" His voice was shaky when he spoke, and he coughed a couple of times, tried to pretend that it was just a post-sex thing.

"Yeah," Ken said, playing along, and Joe thought he loved him just a little more for letting him lie.

"Take my car, all right? Since I can't go."

Ken propped himself up on one arm, looked at him, long and hard, and Joe silently begged him to let it go, and he did, gave what Joe recognized as a mental shrug, and moved on. "Yeah, all right."

"Hey." Joe reached out, tugged him a little closer. "How long do you have?"

Ken let himself be pulled back down. "I can stay for a while."


	12. Twelve for the Twelve Apostles

The scar ran the length of Joe's back and up his neck and disappeared beneath his hair, and the first time Ken traced it with his tongue, Joe shivered and bit down on a cry and tried to push Ken away.

"Stop," he said. "Don't." And he was strong enough now that when Joe wanted to get away he could, and Ken watched him from the bed. He ran his hand through his hair, and Ken noticed that he favored his right side.

"This was a bad idea," he said and reached for his pants.

"Why?" Ken touched Joe's arm, and to him it felt the same as always, warm and soft and hard. He pulled and Joe pulled away.

"Why? _Why_?! Jesus Ken, look at me! I'm fucking Frankenstein's monster."

Ken looked. Looked at the new scars that ran purple and ugly along Joe's arm, his leg, his hips; at the places where the skin was too smooth, to shiny; at Joe's eyes which were dark and angry and afraid. He stepped closer, pressed his ear to Joe's chest, heard nothing more than the steady pulsing of Joe's heart.

"You're you," he said into Joe's skin. "You're Joe. That's all that matters."

Joe laughed, dark and low, but he didn't push Ken away. "How can you say that?"

"Because it's true." Ken pulled back, just enough to straighten up. Tried to find the words that would let him say everything he wanted, explain how they were a team, and they would always be a team, no matter what happened to them, no matter how they changed. That it didn't matter if Joe was a man or a machine or some mixture of the two, that he was _Joe_ , and that fact would never change and Ken would never stop loving him. That it was enough that he was here at all and not dead and rotting, and so Ken would take everything he could, even things that Joe might not be willing to give, because he needed to know that this wasn't a dream or an illusion, needed to know that Joe was real and solid and alive.

But he couldn't say any of those things, and so he kissed Joe, hard and fierce and aggressive, tangled his fingers in Joe's hair and wouldn't let go.

"Because I love you," he said, silently, into the warmth of Joe's mouth, the reluctant pliancy of his body.

And when Joe's hand reached out to touch him, tentatively, questioningly, Ken knew that Joe had heard.


	13. Notes

This was written over twelve days, each day corresponding to one "verse" in the folk song "Green Grow The Rushes-O". I have made my best guess as to the significance of the lyrics, but have been unable to find any definitive source as to the meaning behind some of the more obscure lines. I have done my best to use the lyrics merely as inspiration for each chapter and do not intend any sort of religious meaning behind this fic -- I just really like the song.

 _Green Grow the Rushes-O_ is a repetitive piece in the same vein as _The Twelve Days of Christmas_. The song itself stretches back into antiquity and may have originally had only 10 verses -- the last 2 being added on to make it overtly Christian in tone. The full song (minus the repetitions) is as follows:

 _I'll sing you twelve, O  
Green grow the rushes, O  
What are your twelve, O?  
Twelve for the twelve Apostles  
Eleven for the eleven who went to heaven,  
Ten for the ten commandments,  
Nine for the nine bright shiners,  
Eight for the April Rainers,   
Seven for the seven stars in the sky,  
Six for the six proud walkers,   
Five for the symbols at your door,   
Four for the Gospel makers,  
Three, three, the rivals,  
Two, two, the lily-white boys,  
Clothèd all in green, O  
One is one and all alone  
And evermore shall be so_

A rendition (and it is a beautiful song) can be heard here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHvft9vwEG0

While some of the lyrics are easily interpreted -- E.g., one for god, 10 for the commandments, etc -- others are far more obscure and may refer to more ancient paganisitc rites. For example: who, exactly, are the lily white boys and why must they be dressed in green? And what about the rivals? On those two lines I can shed no light but here follows my personal interpretation of each line. Hopefully it will be helpful for the reader in gaining further understanding of this song.

"One is one and all alone/and evermore shall be so": a clear reference to God, and more probabilistically the Hebraic God, since this song came to the British Isles long before reformation and back in ye olden times, God was more commonly thought of as the Trinity. Thus "one and one and all alone" is more in line with Jewish or Muslim theology.

"Two, two, the lily-white boys/Clothèd all in green, O": Not a clue. Some (by which I mean: people who write about these things and post them on the internet) suggest that this refers to Jesus and John the Baptist. If so, then why would they be "Clothèd all in green"? The most logical reference here would be that this line refers to some form of plant life -- a new growth or shoot, perhaps, although unverified sources on Wikipedia suggest that this may indeed refer to mistletoe and oak which form part of an obscure medieval winter tradition.

"Three, three, the rivals": Again, no real clue. It could refer to the Trinity, though this is unlikely since there was no rivalry there. It could refer to the three monotheistic branches of religion -- Christianity, Judaism and Islam -- but that is more likely a modern interpretation. It could have an entirely pagan (and lost) meaning.

"Four for the Gospel makers": Most commonly agreed to be exactly what it says they are -- John, Mark, Matthew and Luke.

"Five for the symbols at your door": Several alternative explanations here. First, it could refer to the lambs blood smeared across the door lintels Jewish homes during the last plague of Passover. It could also refer to the mezzuzah, which is nailed to the door of Jewish houses and contains passages from the Torah. Or it could refer to something like a pentagram etched into the door to ward off evil spirits. Personally, I like to think it refers to the invisible marks Gandalf made on Bilbo's door in _The Hobbit_.

"Six for the six proud walkers": Again, a very obscure reference. It could refer to, well, anything really. There are at least two biblical references to "six walkers", but the one I found first and liked the best referred to the water bearers at Caen who bore the water Jesus turned to wine.

"Seven for the seven stars in the sky": It took a long time for me to come to grips with the fact that this did _not_ refer to Joseph and his dreams -- mostly because I couldn't remember exactly how many brothers Joseph had. Most likely this lyric has to do with astrology -- the Pleiades, for example. It may also refer to the seven Archangels first reference in Enoch 1.

"Eight for the April rainers": This most likely refers to the Hyades, traditionally known as the "rainy Hyades", a reference I personally enjoy a lot since I had to memorize Tennyson's "Ulysses" for a class project many moons ago and that line has stuck with me ever since.

"Nine for the nine bright shiners": This may have either an astrological or ecclesiastical reference. The nine could refer to the planets (although unlikely since at the time of the song's original creation our solar system had not been fully mapped out) or to the nine choirs of angels. Or, even more paganistically, to the Greek Muses.

I'll stop here as the last three lines are all rather self-explanatory and overtly Christian in nature. However, I hope this brief foray into a lyrical and yet exceedingly perplexing song has sparked an interest in you, oh gentle reader.


End file.
